Raspberry Beret
by EspressoShot
Summary: She's not like any chick you've ever met. You didn't even know girls like her existed, and she makes you feel things that you've never felt before. Maybe you're going crazy. Maybe you're going to die from a massive heart attack before you're 30. Maybe it's something even worse...
1. Chapter 1

_Raspberry Beret_

You get out of the reformatory just in time for St. Patrick's Day. Tim makes a half-assed "luck-o'-the-Irish" joke when he picks you up, and you don't even try to make yourself laugh. But you figure it's about goddamn time for your luck to change. You were stuck in that place for all the good holidays, and they've got a new crop of guards just out of the Academy. Tim always said those guys were the fucking worst, and he was right. They think they've gotta prove themselves, and the new authority makes them a little nuts. And brutal, god damn. Your ribs _still_ hurt.

Your folks aren't home when you get there; not that you would've said hi to them, anyway. There's a couple things you want to get tonight, and the first one is a fucking shower. Tim hollers at you through the closed door to "hurry the fuck up", but you know he'll wait for you. He's been in your shoes so many times before, after all.

The scalding water pounds down on your back and shoulders, and you let your eyes fall closed. You can do that now. You can close your eyes, let your guard down, and enjoy the water that's actually hot. You lean forward so your forehead is resting against the tile wall, and sigh. Christ, you could fall asleep on your feet. You have the brief thought that maybe you ought to stay in and sleep, but you put that out of mind pretty quick. You're dyin' to get laid, and you're not gonna miss out on a night at a bar full of drunk and easy chicks. That, and you're not about to face your mother and Dick without Tim around. After six months of being locked up, you just want one fucking night of not being slapped around, screamed at, or both. And you're sure as shit not going to get that if you stay here.

XXX

By 11:30, you're in a foul fucking mood. Everyone at Buck's has been drinking since early in the morning, and the crowd is quickly thinning out as more and more people either pass out or head home. And you haven't even gotten to talk to a single broad. Your buddies were on you the second you walked in the door. They were _so fucking happy_ to see you. They kept feeding you drinks, which is a plus, you guess. You've got a hell of a buzz going. But you'd rather be stone cold sober and headed to bed with a girl than drunk off your ass and turning in with some lotion and an old playboy.

The sudden sound of laughter behind you nearly makes you jump out of your skin.

"Holy shit, Tim?! The hell happened to your hair, baldy? You lose a bet? Oh, this is _beautiful_!"

You look the girl up and down. She knows Tim, so you figure you've gotta know her from somewhere. But she doesn't look familiar. God damn, though, she's cute as hell.

You realize that she's giving you the same dumb, confused stare that you have to be giving her.

"Well, shit, I'm sorry. You're not Tim. God, you could be his twin, though."

"I'm his brother," you say.

Realization dawns on her. "The one who's been locked up? Shit, I was starting to think that you didn't really exist!"

"And you're…?" you start. You have to stop mid sentence and swallow hard. Suddenly, all those green beers aren't seeming like such a good idea…

"I'm Faye. Faye Glass."

"You know Walt?"

"Unfortunately," she says. She takes a sip of her drink. Is that a fucking Red Vine that she's using as a straw…? "I'm his sister."

"Walter never said he had a sister," you reply. You hiccup and swallow hard again.

She rolls her eyes. "I'm a closer-guarded secret than the Coca-Cola formula, it seems."

You start to laugh, but quickly stop yourself and put a hand over your mouth. Shit. Shit shit _shit_. You're gonna lose your lunch.

Your lunch.

Fuck.

You _would_ forget to eat anything before going out drinking. Not to mention that you just went six months without booze, except for some toilet hooch. And that was one time. Jesus Christ, this is a whole new kind of stupid. Tim's never gonna' let you hear the end of this one.

Your only saving grace is that you're close enough to a trashcan that you're able to get sick in that, instead of on yourself or her shoes.

You're still heaving, fucking _sure_ that she's run off in disgust, when you feel a hand on your back.

"Holy shit! Are you ok?"

You look up at her, this cute fuckin' girl who you _just_ met, and then made a total ass of yourself in front of. You're not gettin' laid tonight, that's for damn sure. But it's hard to care about that right now. You just want to disappear and then to get some fucking sleep.

"You want me to take you home?" she asks.

"Fuck, no. Not home," you groan.

She nods and holds her hand out to you. "C'mon."

"Where we goin'?"

"Gonna' find you a place to crash."

You could crash right here, right now, with your head in this disgusting trash can and the legs of your jeans soaked with what you _hope_ is old, spilled beer.

"'C'mon. Walt's not home. A bed is gonna be a hell of a lot more comfortable than the floor."

You slowly stand up. The room spins and tilts a little, and then rights itself. You blink a couple times, and then manage to focus on Faye. She's still holding her hand out to you, and you take it. But it's only because you're not sure if you're steady enough on your feet to walk alone.

It's not until you're at her house - her _and_ Walt's house - that you realize something.

"You always this nice to people?" You ask.

She flips off the light. "When I wanna be."

"This town's gonna eat you alive," you say. You can't figure out if you're more asleep or awake.

And you don't know if she really says it, or if you're dreaming. But she laughs and says, "it can try. But I'm damn hard to swallow."

XXX

You wake up in the morning just as nauseous as you were last night, and with one hell of a headache. You slowly open your eyes and take in your surroundings. You have no fucking idea where you are. But _holy shit_ this place smells like pot.

You roll out of bed and stumble out the door. Your balance was already shit, and the second you step out into the hallway, someone immediately tackles you and knocks you over. You're too tired to fight, and you instinctively cover your face with your arms and say, "uncle".

Whoever it is doesn't quit, and you groan, "uncle", again, slightly louder this time.

Then laughter that sounds vaguely familiar. "Aww, Jake! Come on, buddy. Leave him alone."

The weight is suddenly off of you. You uncover your face and open your eyes again. You're looking into the face of Walter Glass's pit bull, and a girl who you swear you've seen before. But maybe it's just that she has the same nose and dimples as Walt. Fuck, maybe you're still asleep.

"You look like you could use a joint and some coffee," the vaguely familiar girl says. "And about a gallon of water."

You nod. "Christ, yes."

"Make yourself comfortable," she says. "Couch is right ahead, bed's back where you came from."

She walks off, the way her feet pound on the floor sending waves of pain through your already-aching head. You sigh heavily and close your eyes. You're not gonna be moving any time soon.

 _Think, Curly!_ Where the hell are you? Where's the last place you remember being? Who was there?

A fuzzy memory comes to you. You spent St. Patrick's Day at Buck's. Your buddies must've had you drink an entire keg of green beer. But why are you at Walter Glass's house? Who's this broad who looks like him, but better? Did you get laid? With her?

Footsteps again, and then the smell of coffee. The scent of pot gets even stronger.

You slowly sit up, take a few sips of the coffee, and a hit off of the joint.

"You know where you are? You remember who I am?"

You just shake your head. Last night is too blurry, and your head hurts too much for you to think. Maybe if you play totally dumb, she'll fill you in on what you don't remember.

"You know Walter Glass, yeah?"

"… Uh-huh…"

"This is his house … _Our_ house. I'm his sister, Faye Louise."

"I slept here?" you ask. You take a long hit off the joint and drain your mug of coffee.

"Slept here, yes," she says. Then she winks, "but don't worry, honey. I didn't take advantage of you."

You want to say something like, "almost wish you would have." But what comes out is, "you know Tim?"

Faye cocks an eyebrow at you. "Y'all two don't talk much, huh?"

 _You have no fucking idea…_ "Not when I'm locked up."

"Walt and his boys aren't moonshining any more," she says. "They still got the partnership with Tim and all, but we're selling pot now."

"Which one of the boys is growin'?" you ask. To hear Tim talk, the Kings are all too dumb to manage something like growing weed.

Faye Louise laughs long and hard about that. "You're looking at him."

XXX

You see her again just a couple days later, at the rodeo. Saddle Bronc and Bull Riding are your thing. You don't care much for barrel racing. You figure she must feel the same, because it's just the two of you getting beer from the keg. She gives you a smile and a nod when she sees you, and you return the nod.

"That's a hell of a shiner," she says as she reaches up and gently touches the bruise around your eye. "Recon Tim would've done the same to me a hundred times over if I weren't a girl."

"From my Stepdad," you say. You chug your beer as fast as you can, and then start refilling your cup.

"Got my fair share of war wounds from my Grandpa's razor strap," she finally says. "We should compare battle scars sometime."

"Yeah? That mean I get to see you naked?"

Her figure isn't much to look at. She's not busting out of her top like the girls in the skin mags. She's just skinny all over, like that Twiggy. But she's still wearing a barely-there sundress that must be making her mighty cold in the March weather. You'd warm her up in a heartbeat.

"Depends. You feel lucky?"

"Haven't gotten lucky since I got out," you reply. "Recon that's gotta change sometime."

Her mouth is dangerously close to your ear, and you're glad that you're wearing some of Tim's hand-me-downs and not the jeans that got too small while you were in the reformatory.

"You come find me at the end of the night," she says. "Maybe you'll find yourself a good luck charm before then."

x-x-x

She's leaning against the rusty front door of the Studebaker Something-or-Another that you know is Walt's when she catches your eye. She smirks, cocks an eyebrow, and nods her head over her right shoulder.

"You find that good luck charm?" she asks once you're standing next to her.

"Depends. You got a light?"

She wordlessly hands you a book of matches, and you use two of them to light your cigarette. You normally would've just needed the one, but this cigarette and these matches both must be older than time itself. And it don't help that your hands are shaking from the cold…

"Pretty half-assed good luck charm," she says, eyeing the smoke between your fingers.

You grin at her and reach into your back pocket for your wallet. The condom that you take out is probably even older than the stale cigarette you're smoking. But if you can fake being confident well enough, maybe she won't notice.

She does, though, and she laughs right in your face. She may be Walt's sister, but she's smarter and pays closer attention than he ever did. The thought that you might be in over your head briefly crosses your mind.

"You were better off with the cigarette," she scoffs.

"Tried to get you a rabbit's foot, but them bunnies ain't too keen on givin' up one of their paws."

"Gee, too bad there's not a clover patch right in front of this fuckin' place," she says. She rolls her eyes. "Could've found yourself a couple Shamrocks in about ten seconds."

You mentally cuss yourself out.

"I'll keep that in mind," you say. You drop your cigarette on the pavement and grind it out with your shoe.

"Better find yourself a couple four-leaved clovers right quick," Faye Louise says. She nods toward the cigarette butt on the ground, "'cause this good luck charm's not any good no more."

You laugh, and then you realize that she's looking at you, not even close to smiling.

"You're serious?" you ask.

"You got five minutes," she says. "Take it or leave it."

You swear under your breath as you walk the 20 or so feet to the clover patch. You don't need this. You don't need her. This is bullshit. There's plenty of other chicks out there who'd sleep with you. You're Tim Shepard's little brother. Maybe they can't sleep with him, but you're just as good. Close enough. You could pick one of them up in a heartbeat.

But here's Faye Louise Glass, seeming like she doesn't care about Tim at all. Like she doesn't even like him. Fuck, she's almost acting like she _wants_ to sleep with _you_. So that's why you keep sifting through the clovers, staining the knees of your jeans green, still swearing a blue streak. 

You stand up and head toward the passenger side of the car once the headlights start to blind you. You wordlessly hold the plants out to her. 

"Nine" she says. "Three's my lucky number, and that's three threes."

She opens the door. "Get in."

You wonder if you should just slam the door in her face. Let her go home alone while you pick up one of the faceless girls always hanging around Tim. Bet they wouldn't make you find a goddamn good luck charm before they fuck you.

But instead, you slide into the front seat next to her, and then you're rolling. At the first red light you hit, she leans over and starts nibbling on your neck.

You try to stay in control of yourself. But, Christ, it's been so fucking long. And your neck has always been your sweet spot. You let your eyes roll back in your head, and you sigh contentedly.

You groan in frustration when she leaves your neck and pulls away from the stoplight. At the next red light you hit, you're immediately ready to go. You catch her bottom lip between your teeth, kiss her hard, and buck your hips into her hand when it wanders into your lap.

But then she's driving again. She leaves her hand resting on your crotch, and it's about enough to drive you crazy. You start wiggling around in spite of yourself, desperate for more. God, you're gonna come in your pants like a fucking kid before you even make it to her house…

But you do make it somehow. You use the few seconds that you're outside in the crisp air to try and clear your head, but it's all undone once you walk through the front door. Your mind clouds with lust and pot smoke, and all you can think about is sex. Fuck everything that Tim ever taught you. Fuck trying not to act like you're enjoying it too much, fuck taking the lead, and fuck being quiet. Everything Faye is doing is blowing your mind, and right now, you're perfectly content to just lie there and take it. Especially after the half-a-year you've just had…

Once it's over, you're vaguely aware that you're snuggled up as close to her as you can get, mumbling, "thank you," over and over.

X-X-X

It's almost ten-thirty when you wake up. Too late. Too fucking late. Tim's told you about a thousand times that you need to be up early and out of the house before the girl wakes up. Then again, he also told you that chicks don't like it when guys make too much noise in the sack, and that you should never _ever_ tell them "thank you". And god knows you blew it there…

You still try your best to hustle out of the house, but you didn't stand a chance. Jake growls and barks at you, and you freeze. Faye Louise pops her head out of the kitchen and smiles at you.

"Mornin'!" she says.

"Morning," you rumble in response. Shit, now that you're caught, you might as well go back to bed and sleep some more…

"You leaving?" she asks. She doesn't seem angry or hurt; just curious.

You nod. "I recon."

"Just made some coffee," she says. "You want some before you go?"

You know that you should say no, but your head is still foggy and you can hardly keep your eyes open. You've got a hell of a walk ahead of you, too. So you nod and sink down onto the couch.

"Cream and sugar?" she asks.

"Black," you reply. Fuck, you're already nodding off…

You down your mug of coffee in two big gulps, not even caring how it burns your tongue and throat. You just need to wake up, and fast.

"Didn't mean to wear you out so bad last night," Faye Louise teases. She takes a pack of cigarettes off of the coffee table and lights one.

"'S'alright," you mumble. It's the only thing you can think of. "Can I bum a smoke?"

She holds the pack out to you. "You want more coffee, too?"

You nod and light your cigarette. You're fighting so fucking hard just to keep your eyes open…

You jump at the feeling of a hand on your shoulder.

"Hey, don't go falling asleep and dropping that cigarette on me," Faye Louise says. She sits down next to you on the couch. "There's at least a grand worth of pot down in the basement, and it's not just me who's gonna be mad at you if you catch the house on fire and burn it all up."

You resist the urge to drink right from the coffee pot and refill your mug instead. When you go to set the coffee pot back down, something catches your eye.

"Why the hell'd you need a good luck charm, anyway?"

"Sales been down this past month or so. Figured I might as well try anything I can to get 'em back up."

She laughs to herself and winks at you. "But I guess I got you up pretty good instead, huh?"

You scowl, ready to defend yourself. _You've been locked up. It'd been so fucking long. You were kind of drunk. She's clearly been around the block a couple of times…_

"Hey, hey, I'm sorry," she says. She puts a hand on your shoulder. "I shoulda known better. Tim don't take too kind to teasin', either."

"But, then again, he also wouldn't go lookin' for a good luck charm for me," she says after a short pause.

You don't know why you say it. You're still trying to wake up and not thinking straight. "You ever fuck him?"

You think she'll spit out her coffee. "God, _no_! Christ, what do you think of me?"

You don't respond, and she takes that as permission to continue.

"Shit, can you even _imagine_ what a terrible lay he'd be? He's such a fuckin' control freak. I'd be like, _'I do twenty thrusts, and then you do the same…'_ "

Now it's your turn to narrowly avoid spitting out your coffee.

She continues her Tim impression. " _'You know I said we were allowed three moans each. That's four for you. Now I've gotta' stop pulling your hair…'_ "

"Ok, ok! Jesus, _stop_ ," you say. You're wide-awake now, and more than a little nauseous. But you're also equal parts amused and disgusted. "I was just fine without an image of what my brother is like in bed in my head."

"Well, then you shouldn't have asked if I fucked him!" Faye Louise laughs.

You can't help cracking a smile as you reach for the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table. She's the only girl you know besides Angel who hasn't fucked Tim, and also doesn't seem to want to fuck him.

You smoke your cigarette in silence. But it's a fine silence. It's not the weird, heavy silence that falls over the house when your ma and Dick are about to have one of their screaming matches. And it's not the unnatural, forced silence that falls over the cellblocks after Lights Out in the reformatory. It reminds you of those few times you went to mass as a kid, and everyone was supposed to be silently praying. It's strange for sure. But you could get used to this…

"Guess I should be goin," you say. You stand up slowly, your knees and back popping.

Faye Louise stands up and stretches too. Her shoulders pop so loud that Jake wakes up and barks at her.

"It's a long way to walk," she says. "I'll drive you."

X_X_X

You flop down on your bed and sigh heavily.

"Welcome back," Tim says flatly. He doesn't even look up from his notebook. You know well enough what he's doing. He's trying to redraw the territory so that you have a couple blocks to yourself that you can use to sell.

Part of you wants to tell him not to bother. You'll share with someone. You and whoever the newest member is or somethin'. That combined with Tim's share ought to be enough to keep the family afloat…

But you don't say anything. You just roll your eyes and take a stale stick of bubblegum out from under your mattress.

"Hey, what do you think of Faye Louise?" you ask after a minute.

"Glass?" Tim asks.

"Yeah. Walt's kid sister," you reply.

"Shit, I try not to think of her much at all," Tim replies absently. He scribbles something down in his notebook and then looks up at you. "Why?"

You shrug, trying to keep your cool. "Met her at Buck's the night I got out of the Reformatory, and then again at the Slash J last night," you reply. "Never knew Walter had a sister."

"No one did," Tim says. He reaches under his own mattress for his pack of cigarettes and book of matches. "But you…"

He opens his eyes wide and suddenly sits bolt upright. "No. No. _No_. I swear to God, Curly. _No!_ "

You throw your hands up in surrender and sit up yourself. "What? I didn't do nothin'!"

Tim leans in toward you and narrows his eyes. "Whatever it is you're thinkin' about, Curly… Don't… Just… fuckin' _don't_."

You have a feeling you've already done whatever it is that Tim is trying to tell you not to do.

"Don't do _what_?" you ask.

Tim shakes his head and rubs his eyes with his palms.

"Just leave her alone," he replies. "She's way too much woman for you. Just…"

"'Too much woman' for me?" you reply. "The hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It. Means. What. I. Said. It. Means," he bites. "You're not ready for a girl like Faye Louise. Hell, you're hardly ready to sell to a section of the territory by yourself."

"Fuck you," you grumble. You flop onto your back and close your eyes.

"You wanna try that again?" Tim asks.

But you're annoyed and sleepy and you know that the girl Tim thinks is "too much woman" for you would have sex with you before she'd have sex with him.

So you just shrug and say, "do your worst."

Maybe he pities you, or maybe it's just that he's as tired as you are. Hell, maybe he's cutting you a break since you got out of the reformatory and immediately had to jump into a new situation. Any way you slice it, he doesn't hit you, and you drift off to sleep dreaming about a topless Faye Louise Glass sitting on your lap.


	2. Chapter 2

Loloops, I guess I should actually update, huh? And maybe this one will actually take?! is giving me problems, y'all.

This is just a silly story about my OTP, Curly Shepard and Faye Louise Glass. Something I'm writing to try to get over my writer's block. It's going OK, lol. Please feel free to leave any kind of reviews, because they really help me out a lot!

Disclaimer: SE Hinton owns it bla bla… The late great Prince Rogers Nelson technically owns the title "Raspberry Beret". Listen to it if you're so inclined. The girl character in the song was part of my inspiration for Faye Louise.

TWO

You were pretty hacked off at Tim when he gave you your assignment. You've got the corner of the territory that's the furthest away from your house, right next to River King territory, and you _know_ that he gave it to you on purpose. Making you walk so far, and putting you where Walter Glass and his boys can check up on you, is his way of letting you know that you're being punished and he still doesn't trust you. Like you didn't just spend six fucking months in the reformatory. Haven't you been punished enough already? Christ…

But you're a couple weeks in now, and it's not near as bad as you thought it would be. Turns out you're not half bad at selling pot. And Faye Louise always gives you a couple tips when you show up to pick up your share of the grass. _Always keep it in a mason jar so it stays fresh. Guys with long hair and girls who don't wear a lot of makeup are probably interested. Buy yourself some oregano and sell that to the rich, dumb prep school kids, but that's something you can only get away with once…_

On top of that, Walt's in jail until the end of the month for unpaid speeding tickets, and all his boys really couldn't give less of a shit about you. They tell Tim they're keeping an eye on you, but they've got their own shit to do. Like hell they're just going to drop everything and follow you around all day. You've all got an understanding. _I won't say anything if you won't..._

So really, Faye Louise Glass is the only one who's paying you any attention. But, god damn, she's doing a good job of it. And if Tim knew _how_ exactly she was doing it, shit, you don't know _what_ he'd do.

You hear what the other girls say about Faye. _Easy_. _Slut_. And, yeah, it seems to be true, but it's working out for you just fine. You've never met a girl who was so eager to hook up before. Hell, you didn't know girls like her existed. You haven't jacked off once since you got out of the reformatory, thanks to her. You barely have to ask, and then she's taking you to bed. And, every time, it's the fucking _best_ sex.

Then there was that one time when it started pouring rain just as you were leaving her house, and she drove you home, even though she fucking hates driving in the rain. And that other time when your ma and Dick had been screaming at each other for hours, and she let you crash on her couch because you didn't want to go home. And she makes a hell of a cup of coffee…

If things keep goin' the way they're goin', this might be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

XXX

She's drinking bourbon on the rocks. That _is_ a Red Vine that she's using as a straw.

She slides another glass of bourbon down the bar to you.

"Red Vine?" she asks, holding the box of candy out to you.

You take one, fold it in half twice, and then swallow it after just a couple seconds of chewing.

She rolls her eyes and then comes over to sit next to you.

"You're supposed to bite off the ends and then drink the bourbon through it," she says, handing you another Red Vine.

"Don't tell me what to do," you say, teasing her. "You know I get enough of that from Tim."

"Speaking of…" she says. She shifts her eyes to the left, and then focuses back on you. "He's watching us. You wanna' fuck with him?"

It somehow got back to Tim that you and Faye Louise have been sleeping together. It was probably Walter Glass who told him. He's been a royal pain in the ass ever since he got out of jail.

You've gotta' hand it to Tim. He really did try his best to put the fear of God in you about keepin' on hooking up with Faye Louise, but you both knew it was useless. A black eye, loose tooth, and cracked ribs ain't nothin'. You've gotten worse over less important things.

So, you figure the couple knocks he might give you over this will be well worth it. "Yes."

She gestures toward your glass. "Drink up."

You take a sip of your drink. Damn, it _does_ taste better drank through a Red Vine…

She cocks an eyebrow and tilts her head a little and then starts laughing.

"God, that thing you just said was _so_ funny!" she says. She winks at you. "You know, that joke that Tim can't hear…"

You start laughing yourself.

"The joke Tim can't hear," you say. "It's the fucking funniest joke…"

Faye Louise leans in toward you, leading with her chest, and you can't help sneaking a peek down her shirt.

She puts a hand on your knee and smiles seductively at you.

"You know, sooner you finish that drink, the sooner we can get out of here."

She's running her hand along the inside of your thigh now. And you know that the two of you are just doing this to fuck with Tim, but she's still managing to turn you on…

You close the gap between you and kiss her hard.

"You wanna' get outta' here?" you ask when you come up for air. Then, remembering why this started in the first place, "does Tim look pissed?"

She leans in to whisper in your ear. "He's fucking furious."

"He's gonna' beat the shit out of me."

"I'll make it up to you."

That's more than good enough. You grab her hand and start to lead her out of the bar. She stops you when you reach the front door.

She turns toward Tim, waves at him, and then flips him the bird.

Then you're running toward Walter's car. She's leading you now, tripping over her own feet, laughing, and digging in her purse for something. She finally finds her keys, and she opens the passenger-side door for you before running over to driver's side.

She cranks the car and turns to face you. You give her a long, rough kiss. Fuck, she tastes good…

You're both breathing hard when you come up for air.

"Did he follow us?" she pants.

"Huh?"

"Tim. Did he follow us?"

"Who the fuck cares?"

She bursts out laughing, and that's finally enough to snap you out of the haze you were in.

"You forgot we were trying to fuck with him, huh?"

"No," you bite. But she sees right through you.

"Uh-huh," she teases. "And _I'm_ the one who's supposed to be easy…"

"Let's just get out of here, huh?" Shit, you'd take her right here, right now…

She sighs heavily and leans against the driver side door. "Look, you're not the only one who forgot something. I promised Walter I'd stay out until midnight. He has a date. Guess he thought he might get lucky or something. But there's a couple hours we gotta kill. You wanna' go to the drive-in or somethin'?"

"I know a place down by the river where we can park."

"I don't do car sex any more. It was my New Year's resolution."

"Who said anything about that?" you ask. But you sure as shit were thinking about it.

"It was implied," she replies. "We both know it."

You roll your eyes. "We could buy some beer or somethin'. Just hang out for a while."

"I got a fifth of gin and a joint in my purse," Faye Louise says. "And the rest of those Red Vines."

"Shit. Sounds like a party."

She shifts the car into reverse and starts backing out of the gravel parking lot. "Just tell me how to get there."

XXX

You take a sip right from the bottle of gin, and make a face as you swallow.

"Christ, I hate gin."

She takes a long hit off the joint and blows the smoke in your face. "No one's makin' you drink."

You shrug, drink some more gin, and chase it with a red vine. "Gotta' pass the time somehow."

"Let's at least play a drinking game," she says. "Or tell stories."

"You hear the one about the couple who was parked in the middle of nowhere…"

"And the guy had a hook for a hand," she cuts you off. "Yeah. I've only heard it a hundred times."

"Well, that's the only story I got."

"Tell me a story about you," she says. "You tell one, and then I'll tell one."

"Shit, I don't know."

"Tell me a good story. Tell me the best memory from your childhood. The one thing that keeps you from throwing yourself in that river over there."

"Fuck if I know," you say. You flick your cigarette butt into the river. "I can tell you about the time I had a growth spurt and had to wear one of Angel's dresses as a shirt, and everyone teased me 'cause it was pink."

"No, no," she says. "You don't want to play _My Shitty Childhood_ with me. I will wipe the fucking floor with you."

"Yeah? 'Cause _My Shitty Childhood_ sounds like a game I could win. And you said yourself we need a drinking game."

"Fine," she says. She flicks the last bit of the joint into the river, and takes a bite of a Red Vine. "It's your funeral."

"So, you had to wear your sister's dress to school. Big fucking deal; so did Charles Bronson. You know what happened to me?"

You cock an eyebrow at her, and take a bite of a Red Vine.

"When I was in fifth grade, I found a note in my desk. It was from a guy, I guess, saying he thought I was cute. And I held onto it 'cause, I dunno, nobody had ever told me I was pretty before, you know? But my grandma found it, called me a whore, and shaved my head. Then she said 'let's see anyone call you pretty now,' and locked me in my room for the weekend."

"Jesus Christ," you say. You do another shot.

She nods and takes the bottle from you.

"Hair takes a hell of a lot longer to grow out for girls, too," she says. "But, hey, your childhood was way worse than mine, right?"

"Think I was … six ...? The first time I got a beating from my stepdad," you say. "Knocked out a couple baby teeth that didn't grow back for several months. Couldn't walk right for, shit, I don't know how long. Ma was afraid he'd broke my hip or somethin'."

"Same," Faye Louise replies. "My grandpa was beating me until the day I left home. Bruises on bruises on bruises. Wasn't until I was living in Omaha that I found out he'd dislocated my shoulder, and it never healed right. That explained a hell of a lot."

"Bet you were a sight. Shaved head and black eyes," you say.

She shakes her head. "He kept the bruises where no one could see. Had to make sure nobody asked questions."

She takes a sip of gin. "Give up yet?"

You feel sick, but you're not about to let her win.

"You ever been so hungry you dug through the trash behind the cafeteria at school just looking for something to eat?"

"You ever eaten pig slop? That shit will make you wish you were eating trash."

You swear under your breath, and she takes another drink from the bottle. Shit, she's gonna drink you under the table, too…

"Y'know, it's really not looking good for you," she says. _Has she been slurring her speech for long_? "You give up?"

You think for a second that you should pull out the big guns and tell her about what happened with the priest. But then she's suddenly leaning off the hood of the car, puking her guts up.

"Holy _shit!"_ you crawl across the hood of the car and put a hand on the small of her back. "You ok?"

She nods and slowly sits up. "You think you can drive?"

"Better than you can, that's for damn sure."

"Wanna' go back to my place?"

"Depends. Can I crash?" you ask.

"I promised you that I'd make Tim kicking your ass worth it, didn't I?" she asks.

Christ, the beginning of the night at Buck's seems so long ago now…

"C'mon, Faye Louise," you say. "I can drive fine."

XXX

You wake up alone in her bed early the next morning, and you find her sitting in the backyard drinking coffee and smoking a joint. You pour a cup of coffee for yourself and join her.

"How the fuck are you up so goddamn early?" you ask. "Ain't you hungover?"

She smirks at you. "Think I'm still a little drunk."

You sit next to each other, drinking your coffee, and listening to the sounds of the neighborhood waking up. Cars backfiring and then roaring to life. Men working the day shift yelling goodbyes to their families, and men who worked the late shift and then stayed out all night being screamed at by their wives. Car horns. The constant hum of cars on the Crosstown.

"Guess I'm gonna get goin'," you say.

"You want me to drive you?" Faye Louise asks.

You shake your head. "Recon I might as well try to sweat this liquor out."

She nods and walks you to the door. Something stops you when you get to the end of the walkway.

If Tim was here, he'd kick your teeth in. But he's not here. And, shit, if she's still drunk, maybe she won't remember this…

"Hey," you say. She turns and looks at you.

" _I_ think you're pretty," you say.

She bursts out laughing. "Yeah. Ok. I'll see you later, yeah?"

You nod. "See you later."

You start walking and light a cigarette.

 _Shouldn't have drank all that gin last night. Your stomach feels funny..._

XXX

Reviewssss?


	3. Chapter 3

It's been a while, but we're back, baby! I only own Faye Louise, and she really owns herself, etc.  
PS, check out my PonyxRandy "Skinny Love". There will be an update in honor of Pride Month!

* * *

Her eyes are open wide, and she's gripping your arm hard enough to leave a mark.

"They were aliens the whole time?" she asks. "Leaving their planet to come to Earth?"

"That's how shit goes … in the Twilight Zone," you say.

"I don't like it," she says. She rubs her eyes with her palms. "They looked just like real people. Real Earth people. God, I'm way too high for this."

" _You're_ the one who said it'd be fun to smoke and watch The Twilight Zone," you laugh.

"I was wrong; it's terrible," she whines. "God, how am I supposed to know who's an alien now?"

"There's no such thing as aliens, Faye Louise," you say. You flip to the other channel. "Look, Carson's coming on. Maybe he'll do Carnac the Magnificent."

You wrap your arms around her, pulling her down with you when you lie down on the couch. And you get that weird feeling again. It's like what you felt when you were five and stuck a paperclip in an electrical outlet. Your heart stops cold in your chest, your stomach flips upside-down and you get tingly and numb all over.

It scared you somethin' awful the first time it happened. You'd just finished up in bed with Faye Louise, and you thought you must've given yourself a heart attack. But you'd hardly thought, _this ain't a half-bad way to go…_ when you suddenly felt better.

It's happened a couple more times since then. When you went to pick up your share of the pot after spending a weekend in jail for public intox; when Faye Louise patched you up after an exceptionally bad beating from your stepdad; and again that night, when she let you sleep in her bed, and she gave you Quaaludes and rubbed your back until you fell asleep.

You're not sure what the hell's wrong with you, but you haven't gotten worse, and you haven't died yet. And you're sure as shit not going to waste your family's money on a fucking doctor…

Johnny Carson cuts to commercials, and Faye Louise gives you a long kiss that leaves you gasping for breath. _She always tastes so fucking good. Like cherries…_

"You gonna stay over again tonight?" she asks.

"Depends. You gonna let me?" you reply.

"Your air conditioner still broke?"

You roll your eyes and nod. "Dick had the dough to fix it, too, but blew it all on booze and poker."

"If he don't shape up, I'll pay to fix it my damn self," Faye Louise says. She reaches for her Coke and takes a sip. "I can't keep sharin' a bed with you. You hog the covers. And you snore."

"I don't snore. Fuck you."

"That's the idea," she says with a wink.

You smirk and reach for the pipe on the end table. "So I can stay?"

"I can't make you sleep in that furnace," she says. "'Sides, I recon you've got all of eternity to spend in hell. Might as well let you enjoy the cold while you can."

You blow your smoke in her face. "'Yeah, guess I am goin' to hell. But at least you'll be a familiar face when I get there."

She halfheartedly slaps you, but she's laughing, too. "Fuck you!"

"That's the idea."

If she wasn't already lying down, she'd be doubled-over laughing. And you can't help cracking a grin yourself. You tighten your arm around her waist and kiss the top of her head.

"So, you wanna head to bed?" you ask once she's stopped laughing.

But she doesn't hear you. She's too fixed on the TV.

"Oh, Joan Rivers! God, I love her. I want to be just like her."

You take another hit from the pipe and blow the smoke out your nose. "What do you wanna be like her for? You're prettier than she is. Funnier, too."

"Hey, I already said you can sleep over," she says. "You don't have to go lying to me like that."

"I ain't," you say. "But if you ever cut your hair short like that, we can't be friends no more."

"Well, I got an appointment at the beauty parlor tomorrow. So I guess tonight's our last hurrah."

"You're shittin' me..."

She turns to you, laughing, "yeah. I am."

"Christ, don't go scarin' me like that!"

"Gimme that," she says. She takes the pipe from you and takes a hit. "What do you care if I cut all my hair off, anyway?"

"I don't," you say.

"Uh-huh," she says. "Awful strong reaction from someone who don't care."

You roll your eyes and take the pipe back from her.

"Just don't wanna' hear you whine about how you hate it for the next six months," you say. "Happens every fuckin' time Angel cuts her hair. Ma, too."

"I'm a bit easier to avoid than they are," she says. She stretches and winks at you. "But I know how much you'd miss me."

You'd miss her a hell of a lot. But you're not about to tell her that. You can hardly admit it to yourself.

"You wanna head to bed?" you ask again.

This time, she hears you. She shrugs and slowly sits up. "Guess we might as well."

X.X.X.

You make out for a while, but you're both too stoned and too tired for anything else. She falls asleep before you, though, so you lie awake and listen to the hum of the air conditioner and stare at the cracked ceiling.

You're exhausted, and you've smoked enough grass today to knock a horse on its ass. So why the fuck is your heart still beating a mile a minute? Why can't you sleep? And why the hell does this only happen to you when she's around? You sigh and rub your eyes. Shit. Maybe you are dying. Or losing your fucking mind.

Faye rolls over in her sleep, and her arm is suddenly wrapped around your waist. Your heart stops. Your stomach lurches. And you're burning up and freezing cold all over at the same time.

You somehow manage to roll out of bed and stumble into the bathroom. You splash cold water on your face, and then stare at yourself in the mirror.

What does all of this mean? What the hell is wrong with you?

XXX

You don't know what it is, but Stewart Hall's face looks exceptionally punchable tonight.

He's just sitting there in the corner booth, with Walter Glass and all the other River King boys and their girlfriends all around him. He's letting Faye Louise wear his jacket, and he's got his arm around her shoulders like he fucking owns her or something. The way he's laughing and smoking and throwing back beers, all the while looking at her like she's supposed to give him some kind of approval … You can't put a finger on why, but he's pissing you off.

Maybe it's just that you were in a bad mood to begin with. Dick's wrapping up day two of a bender that's going to go on for god knows how long. And your best buddy Sam just got locked up for ten months, give or take. Of fucking course it _had_ to happen now, when you just got out of the reformatory yourself.

You corner Faye Louise while she's outside; sitting on the porch railing and trying to discreetly smoke a joint. You cross your arms over your chest and stare at her, and she just coolly raises an eyebrow and stares back.

"So, what, you and Hall a thing now?" you ask.

"Well, hello to you, too. Been a while since I seen you. Your hair looks good short like that. Lovely night, isn't it?"

"You're makin' a mistake, gettin' with Hall. I heard he's got VD."

"Well, good thing I always make guys wrap it up if we're gonna go all the way, huh?"

You really don't have anything to say to that. You just reach into your pocket, take out your pack of cigarettes, and light one.

"You wanna get out of here?" you ask.

She rolls her eyes. "I guess you didn't notice, but I happen to be on a date."

"Like hell you're _on a_ _date_ ," you bite. "You can't fuckin' stand Hall, and we both know it."

"I happen to like Stewart just fine," she says. "'Least he doesn't go around getting locked up for stealing _candy_ like someone else I know."

"It was _cigarettes_ ," you bite. "I was there stealin' _cigarettes_. The damn Astro Pops that got me caught were for you. You don't shut up about those fuckin' things."

"You coulda just, I dunno, _bought_ them like a normal person."

"Says the girl who's stolen every condom we've ever used. Surprised you haven't drove Trojan out of business."

"Fuck you!"

"I'm sure as shit not going to now," you snap. "But I guess it don't matter. You gotta get back inside, anyway. Hall and his diseased dick are waitin' for you."

Her hard stare suddenly softens. She hops down off the porch railing and takes a step toward you.

"Something happened while you were locked up, huh?" she asks. There's no one else on the porch, but she still keeps her voice low.

It scares you how well she can read you. But you still roll your eyes and scoff. "No."

"You're such a shitty liar," she says. "What happened?"

You light another cigarette. Christ. Your hands are shaking…

"Curly," she says softly. She puts a hand on your shoulder.

It's the first time in three weeks that someone's touched you.

You blow your smoke down at your feet, and then you look up and lock eyes with her. "I fuckin' hate it when they put me in solitary…"

She's suddenly got you wrapped in a hug, and you've got your face buried in her hair. _Did her hugs always feel this good…?_

"How long?" she asks.

"Week," you reply. You close your eyes tight. You're not going to cry. You're not. Not here. You can't…

"Jesus," she says. "That's fuckin' cruel and unusual. We should sue. Make a damn fortune."

You can't even make yourself laugh. Your mouth gets ahead of your brain, and you say, "I didn't think I was gonna make it out this time…"

She takes a step back and locks eyes with you. Shit, you didn't know she could get so pale.

"You…" she starts.

You shake your head and wave your hand at her. Shit. You've said too much. She knows too much now.

"It's nothin'," you say. "Ain't you _on a date_ anyway?"

"Not any more," she says. "C'mon. You wanna go back to my place?"

That's all you've wanted for the past week. Thinking about smoking and watching TV and falling asleep with her again is all that kept you going while you were in solitary. But you can't let her know that…

"Hall's gonna miss his jacket," you say.

"Let him miss it," she says. "Come on. I got some fresh bud with your name on it. And I just washed my sheets."

You're too tired to say no. You let her lead you off the porch, through the parking lot, and over to Walt's car. On the drive back to her house, she lets you rest your head on her shoulder, and she doesn't let go of your hand.

X.X.X.

She gives you a kiss, and then puts the still-smoldering cigarette between your lips. You take a few puffs, and then pass it back to her.

"Hey, Curly…" she starts.

You prop yourself up on your elbow and cock an eyebrow at her.

She takes a long drag off the cigarette and blows the smoke out her nose.

"I … I never known anybody who died before. And … if you were the first one … Shit, I don't know what I'd do."

Your heart stops and finds its way into your throat. You swallow hard and nod.

"I'm just glad you made it out OK is all," she says. "I – I'd miss you if you were gone. You're a hell of a lot more fun than Walt's boys and Tim."

You don't know what to say, and she doesn't wait for a response. She's already out of bed, putting on her bathrobe and slippers.

"You want some orange juice?" she asks.

You nod, and you're suddenly aware that you're shaking. "Put some vodka in it, will ya?"

"Yeah," she says. "Of course."

* * *

Hmm, what's going on with Curly? Seems like Faye Louise is catching a bit of it herself, too?

Reviews, please? :)


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